you are always ticking inside of me
by jonimitchell
Summary: a series of canon and au drabbles
1. i'll wear that dress

**disclaimer**: glee is not mine

**a/n:** this has also been posted on my tumblr!

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><p><em>i.<em>

"It's perfect," she whispers. She presses her hand to the fabric, a smile tugging her lips. Kurt squeals excitedly, pulls it from the rack, and ushers her into the fitting rooms.

She steps out gingerly, trying to hide the smile that threatens to reveal itself. "So?"

"_Perfect_!" He hugs her tightly. "Jesse's gonna love it."

Her heart squeezes. _Finn_, she wants to say_, Finn is going to love it_. But she doesn't, because he won't. He's not her date.

_ii._

"You're perfect," Finn says, dropping his jaw and squeezing her hand. She flushes and stares down at the elegant, gold dress she'd chosen for her senior prom. "I mean, not that I didn't know that already. But you look so beautiful."

He leans in to kiss her, but Kurt runs between them, squawking about her lipstick that he painstakingly applied, or something. He settles for running his hand down her cheek and kissing her forehead. "Thank you."

"For what?

"Everything," she responds, and kisses him anyway.

_iii_.

The first dress she sees she tries on. It's dark blue, elegant, and backless. She pulls it off the rack because, quite frankly, she wants to shock people. Playing a sweet, young girl in her first Broadway lead has its ups—and its downs. She appreciates being called sweet, adorable and cute—but she's been called that her whole life. She wants to be hot, take your breath away, drop dead gorgeous.

So she tries the dress on and falls in love. Kurt refuses to let her try anything else on, and sets about finding shoes. It's her first Tony Awards Ceremony, and even a week before, she can feel the butterflies blooming in her stomach.

And at the Awards a week later, interviewers tell her how stunned they are by her dress—pleasantly surprised. She just grins and thanks them graciously. Her heart sinks when she doesn't win, but her show _does_ win, and in a way, even being nominated is a win in and of itself.

She gets a call the next morning—well, it's really afternoon—that wakes her from her sleep. Her mouth forms a garbled hello once her hand finds the phone.

"_You looked beautiful last night_."

She sits up and leans against the headboard, smiling at the sound of his voice. "Hi, Finn. I wish you could've been with me."

"_Me, too._" She hears him let out a low breath, and it's times like these she regrets agreeing to be 'just friends' with him when the long distance got to be too much.

There's a knock on her door, and she already knows who it'll be—Finn, of course. (That's how it happens in movies.)

"Hold on," she tells him, jumping out of bed. Her heart begins to pound in anticipation. She decides that she'll just hug him first, and kiss him later. She yanks the door open, only to find Kurt standing at the door.

She lets him in and ends her conversation with Finn. "I've got to go. I'll see you soon, okay?"

"_Bye, Rach_."

She sits at the kitchen island and buries her head in her hands. Kurt doesn't speak, merely pats her on the back and pulls her out of her seat. "C'mon, Rachel, let's get some coffee."

"I know that I broke up with him," she begins as they push through the doors of the Starbucks down the street from her apartment, "but he was just so…calm about it. Is it bad that I can't stop thinking of him? I just—I just imagined _he_ would be the one in the audience when I was nominated for my first Tony; _he_ would be the one next to me, holding my hand, supporting me."

Kurt very clearly doesn't know what to say, so he just squeezes her shoulder and tells her he's going to the restroom for just a minute. She smiles, nods, and gets in line.

A young, teenage girl walks up to her and taps her on the shoulder, saying shyly, "Miss—Miss Berry?"

She turns and smiles, suddenly flashing back to that evening in Sardi's when she saw Patti LuPone. "Yes?"

"I just—I want to tell you that you're, like…you're like my idol."

"Thank you—that's _so_ sweet of you."

"Can I have your autograph? My friends won't believe me when I say I met _the_ Rachel Berry!"

"Of course!" She pulls out a program from Rachel's show and puts it in her hands. "What's your name?"

"Katie."

"To Katie: never give up on your dreams," she says as her Sharpie flies across the page.

"Thank you _so, so _much! You looked great at the Tonys, by the way!" Rachel laughs as she waves goodbye to the young girl, smile refusing to fade as she tucks her Sharpie back into her purse.

Another person taps her on the shoulder. She turns and gasps. "Hi, Rachel."

"H-Hi, Finn."

_iv_.

This is her favorite dress, she decides. She runs her hand down her waist, turning and admiring every angle of her body in the dress. It's the culmination of all her previous dresses—elegant, sexy, sweet, stunning. All she's ever wanted in a dress. Kurt comes up beside her wrapping an arm around her shoulders and squeezing her close. "After all this time," he sighs. "Finally."

She squeals and hugs him tightly. "Finally," she agrees.

Her daddy pokes his head into the room, "Rachel? Honey, it's time." There's a flurry of excitement among the people in the room, friends from high school she'd never dream she'd keep (Brittany as her maid of honor is most surprising to her) as well as Kurt as the best man.

Her arms loop through her dads' and she bites her lip in anticipation. This is it. The day she's been waiting for since she was sixteen—it's finally here. She remembers that tether concept he came up with their junior year and it's never felt more potent than it does right now, as she's walking down the aisle to the rest of her life.

His hands are steady when they grasp hers. She can't help it, she's shaking, absolutely shaking with joy. "We made it," she whispers, squeezing his hand.

Finn's smile is permanent for the entirety of the ceremony. He doesn't take his eyes off of her. And after he's kissed her in front of their friends and family (for much longer than is custom), he wraps his arm around her middle and presses his lips against her ear. "You're perfect, baby, absolutely gorgeous. Thank you."

She smiles a little and squeezes his wrist. "For what?"

With another kiss, he responds, "Everything."


	2. tonight, we're the sea

**disclaimer:** glee is not mine

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><p><em>i.<em>

When he's looking for a place to think, he yanks up the window in his bedroom and climbs onto the roof. He leans his back against another part of the roof, steadying his toes against the shingles and splaying his hands out for better balance. This high up, he can almost taste the night sky.

Rachel joins him a lot that summer, and into the fall. After the disastrous _West Side Story_ casting announcement, and Rachel's subsequent immersion into the student council elections, Finn finds himself climbing into the cold October air. He's not sure how long he spends breathing in the forty-degree air, but when his lungs become ice, he hears footsteps and turns his head to find his tiny girlfriend clambering onto the roof. Instinctively, he thrusts out his hand to help her out.

"I thought you were mad at me," she says coolly, smoothing down the skirt of her dress before reaching over and grasping his hand.

"No," he responds, still staring at the whole of Lima before him, "I'm not mad at you, just…confused. I just don't get why you don't think you'll get in, Rachel—you're amazing, and you deserve it."

He turns to face her now, but her eyes are downcast and refuse to meet his. "I'm not going to get in, Finn, I need to stand out. And—and this part isn't even _mine_, really, I'm the—the second choice. And I need to do something to feel chosen. This is the only way. I'm sorry. You don't have to vote for me, Finn, I won't ask you to choose."

"You _are_ chosen, though, Rachel, and you're the best damn singer I've ever heard in my life!"

"I may have technique down, but girls like Mercedes—"

"Yeah, Mercedes is super good, and able to bring the house down," her lips fall open with a sharp intake of breath as her hand reaches up to cup her mouth, so he backtracks quickly, "but, baby, you—your voice it like…it cuts right through you, you know? It's so powerful because it's clear you pour every single emotion you feel into your voice and it's absolutely _beautiful_."

"Finn," she sighs softly. He reaches over and caresses her cheek, fingertips lightly tracing her cheekbones.

"You're going to be a star, Rachel. You are. You think anyone else in the world could sing 'Don't Rain on My Parade' on the fly like you did? Baby, you're perfect. You deserve this role. It's been yours since you auditioned."

She scoots closer to him and rests her head on his shoulder. "If you believe in _me_ that much, why can't you believe in yourself the way you believe in me?"

He's stumped, and only manages to sputter random syllables before his lips find, "I don't know."

She picks up her head and kisses the side of his mouth. "Finn, I love you. I believe in you. Whatever you choose to do—NYADA, Ohio State, the auto shop—as long as it makes you happy, I'm happy, but I want you to know…I know you, Finn, and I know you can make it out of Lima, and you—you deserved the best in the world." She lifts her hand and covers his heart. "The way you believe in me, Finn, is the way I feel about _you_."

He leans down and kisses her softly; threading his fingers in her long, loose hair, and when he breaks away just a centimeter, he breathes into her partially open mouth, "I love you."

_ii_.

"It's been a long time," she says, climbing onto the cold roof beside him, winter air billowing around her. He glances up, surprised, and can't stop the grin from nearly splitting is face in two.

"Rachel," he greets, holding his arms open, a small smile tugging at his lips. She's a little unsteady as she crawls between his legs, and, tucking her head under his chin and hugs him tightly. "I've missed you."

"Me, too," she mumbles, breathing in the scent of him at the crook of his neck. "I love you."

He squeezes her even tighter, murmuring, "I love you," against her dark hair. Everything's exactly the same, but in another respect, completely different. Since August, they've lived in completely different worlds. It was nearly impossible at times, and he'd get this crippling, icy feeling in his gut when he thought about her, and at other times, he just missed her.

_iii._

When he hears the door to the apartment slam, he leaps from his spot on the couch and meets her at the doorway. "Well?" He asks impatiently.

She looks up at him, and her grin is blinding, "I got it!"

"Yes!" He yells, pumping a fist in the air. Her delighted laughter peals from her lips as he grabs her around the waist and swings her around. "I knew you would," he assures her. Her arms fall around his neck as her legs wind around his waist. "I'm so proud of you, baby."

He feels her smile into his neck, and suddenly, he's reminded of high school, and _West Side Story_, and of Rachel's resigned, "She was better than me," and "I got it," and how his heart had shattered seeing his girl sad like that, especially over a part she deserved.

But now, here they are, together in New York, and Rachel's finally got her first lead in a Broadway show, and not just any show, as _Rent_'s Mimi. He was a little nervous for her at first, cause he's seen _Rent_ like a thousand times, and he knows how promiscuous the part of Mimi is, but once he heard her singing 'Out Tonight', he knew she'd nail it.

And of course, she did.

_iv_.

Months into her rehearsals, she comes home late and curls beside him in bed, tucking her way under his chin and grasping his shirt in her fingers. He's half awake, right now, and squeezes her waist as a greeting. "Finn?"

"Hmmm?"

"Can you—can you wake up for just a sec?"

"What's up, baby?" Even in the darkness of their bedroom, he can tell something's wrong. Her bottom lip is slightly pushed out, and he knows from nearly nine years of scrutinizing Rachel Berry facial expressions, that she is _not_ okay.

"Do I—do I deserve this, Finn? It was too easy to get here, shouldn't I have been cast as an ensemble for six years instead of three before making it here?"

He sits up, and pulls her against his chest, pressing a soft kiss to her temple. "Rachel Berry," he says, "you're a star. You deserve this. I promise. You, more than anyone in the _entire_ world, deserve this role. Don't let anyone bring you down, baby, please."

She nuzzles her nose into his neck and kisses him there, whispering a soft, 'thank you,' against his lips.

_v._

If there's one girl he knows, it's Rachel Berry. And he knows she still doesn't believe that she deserves this (deserves the world). As per usual, he beats her home from work, but he knows she'll get home early today; after all, Thursday rehearsals end early for her.

He knows her, knows her schedule and how to read her voice and face, he knows when she's acting and when she's being real. And last night, she believed him—for half a second.

So he waits for her, the plan already building in his head. And finally, she barges into the apartment, wiping under her eyes and smiling brightly when she spots him. "Hi, baby." He smiles softly at her, and just embraces her tightly. He knows her, knows that on days like today, she just needs a hug to feel better.

But he also knows that he needs to boost her confidence, so he leads her to the rooftop and points out some of their favorite places in Manhattan, and finally gestures toward Broadway. "And Rachel, that's where you belong, on Broadway, with _your name_ in lights. The spotlight is yours. You've earned it more than anyone, you've worked so hard to get here, and I want you to know I will _always_ love you, I'll always support you, and I'll always be proud of you, even if you quit, because while you belong on Broadway, there's another place you belong, and that's with me."

Most of the time, he's not very good with words. At least, he wasn't. But he's starting to get better, with more reading and time spent with Rachel, he's learning how to please her with words, and after so many years of dating, he's realizing that he has finally gotten it.

"You always make me feel so much higher," she says quietly, hooking her arms around his neck. "I love you."

He smiles and kisses her softly, "I love you, too."

_vi._

He hates suits. He hates suits, and vests, and suspenders, and ties, but he wears it tonight, because she deserves the absolute best—and a boyfriend looking his best, especially. It's her premier night on Broadway, after all, and he couldn't be prouder of his girl.

And, okay, he's sat in on plenty of rehearsals, but this is the big night. He smiles and shakes hands with many of her cast mates' friends and families, and sips at overpriced champagne. And then the doors open, and he is one of the first in the theater, and he splurged and is seated in the second row, right in the middle, and he knows he'll have a perfect view of her the entire show.

The theater begins to fill up as time passes, and then the show begins, and he grins when Rachel first comes onstage. Nudging the person beside him, he whispers, "That's _my_ girlfriend."

He couldn't be prouder of her as the story unfolds before him and she _becomes_ Mimi in a way he's never seen Rachel act before—it's almost like there is no Rachel left, and even _he_ is completely blown away.

He smiles a lot during 'Light My Candle', gets a little _more_ than turned on during 'Out Tonight', and finds his eyes welling with tears during 'Without You' and 'Goodbye Love'.

At the end, she receives a standing ovation and he can see from his seat that her eyes are glassy with tears, and she brings her hand up to her lips and blows the audience a kiss and waves.

"Sir," the woman beside him taps him on the shoulder, "tell your girlfriend that she's the most talented singer I've ever heard in my life."

He knows he's a little biased when he agrees.

_vii_.

The snow is just starting to fall when the window opens. He glances over his shoulder and smiles as she climbs onto the roof beside him. "It's freezing," she exclaims, curling her body against his. "What are you doing out here?"

He sighs, "I missed my bed warmer. Plus, I just wanted to think."

"Mind if I join you?" He shakes his head and wraps his arm around her shoulder. "Merry Christmas, Finn."

"It's past midnight already?" She nods and begins to shiver slightly. The flakes of snow get caught in her eyelashes, illuminated by the extensive amount of Christmas lights surrounding them. They look like small, multicolored stars as she stares up at him, huge smile on her lips.

"I should tell you," she begins, laughing a little at _Rent_'s infiltration in every aspect of her life, "thank you. I—I won my first Tony award in the spring, Finn. And, as I said in my acceptance, it wouldn't be without you. So, thank you, Finn, for everything. I love you." He nearly laughs, because he knows that the holidays get her a little more than emotional, but instead of letting the laughter escape, he just leans forward and kisses her.

"You know," he begins, pulling the small box out of his sweatshirt pocket, "you can marry me if you want to."

He knows that if they weren't on an icy roof on Christmas morning, she would be screaming and squealing, but instead, she just grins and grasps the box in her small fingers. "Oh, Finn. I want to."

_viii_.

"Finn, hurry up, Lily's first soccer game starts in _ten minutes_," Rachel exclaims, flicking the lights in the basement to better get his attention. "You can fool around with whatever the hell it is you're doing after!"

"Coming, baby," he calls, and his voice is a lot closer than she expected.

She smiles when he finally appears. His hair is an absolute mess, and he hasn't shaved today, and while she would normally chastise him for not shaving, she can't help but admit that she's _way_ attracted to him like this. "Hi," she says softly, sliding her hands up his chest and resting on his shoulders.

He smiles and grips her waist, leaning forward to kiss her. "Hi, baby."

"Do you have the camera? What about the video camera? I promised Daddy I'd get a good video of her first goal, Finn, and you know Daddy when I don't listen—"

"Babe," he interrupts, "I've got everything all ready." His big hand gestures to the bag waiting by the basement door, and she smiles.

"I knew you were good for _something_! Now, let's go! We're going to be late!"

He laughs as she nearly _drags_ him out the door. Truth be told, he's been waiting for this day to come, and he's been dreading it as much as he dreaded her first day of school. Okay, so she's only four, and it's only junior league, but some kids at her age are pretty rough, and he just wants her to be careful.

Rachel has become a typical soccer mom, with her foldout chairs and her water cooler, and if he didn't think she was so damn cute, he would mock her endlessly. When they're settled in, Rachel leans over and gives him a long, sweet kiss, and he smiles as they part. The other parents don't like them very much for this precise reason—their frequent 'inappropriate' PDA sessions have turned some parents off, but that doesn't mean that Lily doesn't have friends.

They're just not allowed over the Hudsons' house.

When Lily kicks her very first goal, Rachel gets really choked up, especially when Lily turns and fist pumps and waves at her parents. "Why are you crying?" He teases, reaching forward and pushing a strand of her hair behind her ear.

She wipes her stray tears and puts her hand over his. "'Cause I'm pregnant."


	3. i came inside to be with you

**as always, I do not own glee. **

**a/n: a series of au drabble prompts asked on tumblr.**

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><p><strong>Finn as Rachel's manager<strong>

"Rachel," he says softly, lowering himself onto the bench beside her. She doesn't look at him, but he can tell by the way her shoulders are hunched that she's crying. He's not good with these kinds of situations. Comforting women has never been his forte, and he's never had to comfort Rachel before, so this situation is a bit of an anomaly for him. Still, he hates to see her hurting (when her boyfriend cheated on her, he had to stop himself from running after him and killing him), so he wraps his arm around her thin shoulders. "It'll be okay. There are other auditions, I have you lined up for—"

"_No_, Finn, don't you see? One part will amount to two parts, and before we know it, I'll be off the stage _forever_!" She begins to wail again, and he's so used to her dramatics that he doesn't even react.

"Rach, you know you're talented," he assures her gently, tugging her closer into his side. The curve of her side presses into his, and he tries to ignore the resurfacing attraction to her that he's suppressed for nearly two years. "And—and maybe that role just wasn't meant for you, you know? You're meant for bigger things."

She sighs, "But I wanted it. Is it—do you think it's because I'm not pretty enough to play the part? Am I forever suited to play the underdog? I don't even _deserve_ that!"

"No," he says firmly, "you're beautiful, Rachel. Absolutely beautiful." She glances up at him and smiles softly.

"You really think so?" He nods mutely, locking his eyes on hers just as he realizes how close their faces are. Nearly subconsciously, his hand glides down her back and grasps her waist while his other hand reaches up to caress her face.

"You're the most beautiful girl in the world," he murmurs earnestly, his lips just a centimeter from hers. "And you deserve all the roles in the world." Consumed by the look in her dark eyes and the smile on her full mouth, he leans down minutely and brushes his lips against hers. She sighs into his mouth, lifting her small hands and holding has face, fingers running along his strong jaw. His hands grasp her even closer as his mouth moves over hers.

He groans into her mouth, slipping his tongue between her teeth, and _god_, how have they waited so long to do this, because it feels fucking perfect, completely natural, like he was made for her, made to kiss her. He's felt fireworks kissing girls before, but kissing Rachel is like a nuclear explosion, like the entire world around him ceases to exist, and just becomes completely consumed with her. She grasps at his shoulders as he breaks away, panting heavily. He whispers her name softly, tenderly, and she stands up and takes his hands in hers. "I think this is the start of something special," she begins as she leads him to her apartment, "don't you?"

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><p><strong> finn and rachel, as cops in NY please and thank you :)<strong>

"Hudson!" Captain Beiste shouts, "You're on patrol with Berry tonight!" Finn glances over at the tiny, brunette girl fussing with her hair in the corner of the station. He smiles to himself, but nods, ever the professional, and grabs the keys to one of the many patrol cars.

"You ready, R—Officer Berry?" She bites her lip and nods, and he sighs softly as he leads her out of the station. The wind whips around them, cutting between buildings and chilling him to the bone. She shivers, and he grasps her elbow, leading her quickly to the car. The heat takes minutes to churn to completely on, and they're already tracking their first robbery when she stops quaking.

Once they catch them—just kids, teenagers—they're alone in the car, patrolling their sector of the city, and for once, not much is happening. He ends up parking the patrol car, and before he knows it, he's leaning across the center console with his lips pressed to hers. A lot of nights end like these lately, teeth clanging, tongues intertwined.

"Baby," he sighs, "we can't keep doin' this."

"Finn," she groans, "I _need_ you." Just as he formulates a response, a call crackles over the walkie talkie, and they have to go solve _another_ robbery, right away. He hurries over there, fingers intertwined with Rachel's between the seats. This robbery is more difficult, it's harder to stop them, and before he even knows what's happened, a gun appears and it's fired before he can pull the trigger on his own, and Rachel screams so loudly he nearly feels his heart stop beating. She's okay, she's okay, but his heart still beats erratically because this is the first time she's been shot at since they got married.

And maybe eloping in Italy wasn't the best idea he'd ever had. His parents were angry, her dads were tearful, and everyone said they moved too quickly, but he knows love, and he _loves_ her more than anything in the entire world.

After their shift, at the end of the night, he pulls her close, and _god_, he can't imagine losing her. "Let's go home, baby," she says softly, fingers curling around his cotton polo. He kisses her softly and slowly, and takes her home.

* * *

><p><strong> finchel, happy graduation day.<strong>

"Good people of Lima, I present to you, the class of 2012!" The cheers are nearly deafening as the class stands up and throws their mortar boards in the air. Finn makes sure not to stare up at it for too long—he's heard those stories about people getting their eyes gouged out by these things, and he doesn't want to join his girl in New York with only one eye.

Once he catches it (thankfully, both eyes still in tact), he feels Rachel's eyes on his and turns his face to hers. She grins at him, and he returns it, and ignores Kurt's tug on his arm and makes his way towards her.

"Congratulations," he says, placing his mortar board on her head. Her arms wrap around his neck and he leans in and kisses her on the mouth.

"Hey!" Blaine interrupts, "This is a family event." They break apart and he grins sheepishly, running his hand through his hair as Rachel squeals and hugs Blaine tightly, the too big mortar board slipping off her head.

Suddenly, they're not alone, and their parents are all around them, crying and congratulating them, and Rachel's dad, Hiram, makes the suggestion that they all go out to dinner. He groans, eager to be alone with Rachel.

His heart swells when he realizes that they've got their entire lives ahead of them.

Later that night, after the dinner and the parties, and the alcohol and sex, when he and Rachel are lying in his bed, his body curved around hers, he realizes the gravity of the ceremony today. He's not a kid anymore.

Rachel stirs a little beside him, rolling in his arms and opening her eyes slightly. "What time is it?" She mumbles sleepily. He kisses her softly and slowly.

"It's late," he whispers, "or early, I guess, depending on how you look at it."

"Hmm," she hums against his arm, "why're you up?"

"I'm thinking."

"'Bout what?"

"You," he responds, running his hand down her bare side and squeezing her hip slightly. She giggles, still a little tipsy, and opens her eyes again.

"What _about_ me?"

"I'm thinkin' about New York," he begins, "and how happy I am that you—that I'm not losing you like I thought I would all year."

"We're gonna be together forever," she sighs happily.

"Yeah?"

"Mhmm. We're gonna get married, and have the babies and the house and the dog." She yawns and smiles up at him.

"We are," he murmurs, smiling at the thought, and he can see it all now, the dog, the kid, the entire future spanning before him, his path next to hers, and he can't wait to see their separate paths intertwine.

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><p><strong> Finn and Rachel drop their child off on the first day of school. GO. :)<strong>

"Finn, we _really_ need to go." The staccato of her foot tapping against the linoleum of the kitchen floor drums like his heartbeat in his ears. He sighs loudly, glances at his baby girl, and back to Rachel.

"Babe, do we _really_—"

"Yes," she interrupts, "we do." He frowns and refuses to rise from the kitchen table. She rolls her eyes, grasps Lily's hand, and begins walking toward the front door. "Lily, I guess Daddy doesn't want to see you off on your first day of school. We'll have to leave without him."

He knows what she's doing—baiting him, and she knows it works. He lumbers to his feet and follows them out the door. He doesn't exactly remember when he completely gave these two girls his heart.

Her hand slips into his on the drive over, and he glances over at her in the passenger seat. She sends him a sweet smile and squeezes his hand. His lips stretch into a smile (the first of the day). Too soon, the car is rolling to a stop in front of Lily's new school, a private one on the outskirts of New York City that Rachel demanded she attend, and what Rachel wants, she gets.

Lily's excited when he finally parks the car, nearly tearing out of her seat and running towards the room. "Lily!" Rachel calls, "Wait!" She groans and halts in place, cocking her hip out and crossing her arms. Finn nearly keels over laughing at how similar she is to her mother. Rachel just glares at him and rushes to catch up with her.

Lily's small fingers ease into her parents' as they walk into the school together, herding inside with other families who look more prepared than Finn feels. He's just not ready for her to grow up yet, okay?

The teacher is standing outside the classroom, beaming and welcoming children into the classroom. Ever the socialite, Lily introduces herself, "My name is Lily Hudson, and I am going to be famous." Her small hands slip from her parents' as she shakes hands with the teacher who, for her part, doesn't laugh or smile at the ambitious kindergartener before her. Rachel is suddenly at his side, tucking herself under his arm. He wraps his arm around her and squeezes her shoulder as the teacher, Mrs. Smith, he remembers, turns to them.

"Parents are welcome to join us for the first ten minutes," Mrs. Smith says. Rachel shakes her head.

"No, I'm afraid my husband and I have to get to work soon," she responds. Finn furrows his brow, distinctly remembering taking the day off, and Rachel doesn't have a show until later tonight—then he remembers Lily's request that they not follow her into the classroom. Rachel slips out from beneath his arm and crouches before Lily, brushing her overgrown bangs out of her eyes and whispering something lowly to her, before grabbing her in a tight hug.

Finn does the same, whispering in her ear, "Knock 'em dead, baby girl." She giggles and kisses his cheek, and then Mrs. Smith herds her into the classroom and shuts the door behind her.

Finn's standing upright, now, and Rachel's back under his arm, and he can feel her shoulders shaking, and he smirks slightly when he asks, "Are you crying?"

"No, I just—" He laughs and hugs her, allowing her to bury her face in his chest as she sobs. "Why aren't _you_ crying?"

He grins at her accusatory tone and begins to lead her out of the classroom. "Hey, when we get home, you wanna try for another one?" She only elbows him in the ribs in response.


	4. only place that i call home

**this is a random ficlet someone on tumblr prompted me to write :)**

again, glee is not mine

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><p>He takes her on a surprise trip after graduation—a last hurrah, of sorts, for just them. Naturally, Rachel arrives at his house ten minutes early and finds him loading the tent into the truck and stomps her foot indignantly.<p>

"You're taking me _camping_, Finn?" He freezes and turns to smile at her.

"Hi, baby," he says affectionately. "Got all your stuff?" He ignores her question and grabs her duffel bag, tossing it carelessly into the car.

"Finn!"

"Rach, I know Kurt packed your bag, and I doubt that he put any valuables in. Now, come over here, and give me a kiss."

"No." He rolls his eyes and tugs her close, crushing his lips against hers. Her arm wraps around his neck, tugging him closer, her previous frustration forgotten.

"Let's go," he murmurs against her lips, "or we'll get stuck in traffic." She groans and crosses her arms, letting out a huff of annoyance.

"Finn, you're doing that wrong," she says for the millionth time. He glares at her, legs crossed as she sits on the stump of a tree, and rolls his eyes.

"I'm doing it _right_."

"The directions say—"

"I don't _care_ what the directions say, Rachel! I know how to set up a tent!" He bursts out, and she humphs, crosses her arms over his chest and looks away. Moments later, after struggling with the tent aimlessly, he glances over at her. "Hey, Rach?"

She looks up triumphantly at his sheepish tone. "Hah! I _knew_ you would cave in—"

He interrupts her gloating, "Baby. _Please_, just help me out a little here? It looks like rain, and I don't want you to get sick if we get caught in it."

She smiles and hops off the stump, hands him the directions and begins setting up the tent like a professional.

"I'm not going _hiking_!" She exclaims, hours later, after any dark clouds have passed. He rolls his eyes and continues packing a bag. She is _so_ over-dramatic sometimes (all the time), but especially on this trip.

"Look, babe, you don't even have to hike, we're just going on a walk through the woods, 'kay?" Her bottom lip pushes out in a pout, but she agrees.

Halfway through the walk, though, she starts to lag behind him, despite their clasped hands, and gets progressively crankier. Eventually, she tries to turn him around, but he wants to keep going, so he swings her onto his back. Her arms clasp around his neck and she buries her nose into the crook of his neck. "I love you," she says quietly.

He laughs and squeezes her thigh in response.

Later, when they're lying in the tent as the evening ebbs into night, she curls into his side and smiles up at him. "Thank you for taking me here, Finn."

"What's this? Rachel Berry actually _enjoys_ camping?"

She releases a long breath that moves her bangs, and nods. "Yes, at first, I was quite reluctant but I have found myself to really enjoy this activity—but I think a lot of it has to do with spending alone time with _you_."

He smiles and runs his hand up her side. "Yeah? Think you could spend the rest of your life spending alone time with me?"

She laughs and leans up to kiss him softly. "I think I'm going to have to. I don't want to be rid of you quite yet."


	5. there's room to grow

_i_.

It's a balmy Sunday morning when Finn's mama crouches before him in the living room and tells him _daddy's not coming home_. His little brows furrow, and with horror, he watches his mother collapse into these loud sobs. He's only five, he can't—he can't do this. He finds himself running outside, humidity enveloping him with its heavy arms. His feet carry him up the rungs of the ladder to the tree house his daddy made him just last summer.

He curls up in a ball in the corner, checking carefully for spiders as he eases himself down. _Daddy's not coming home_. The realization washes over him, and the tears pour out of him.

_ii_.

The next time he finds himself climbing the ladder is the winter of his sophomore year. It's been a long time. He pulls himself up and he can barely fit in his corner anymore. Still, he curls up there, hanging his head.

They won sectionals, he was okay for a while, but right now, he's way _less_ than okay. He loved Quinn, for those four months, he was all hers—and then he met Rachel and everything got so, so convoluted. Quinn, after all, is the first girl he's ever dated, the first girl he's ever _loved_, but Rachel is so much more. Somehow, he's managed to fuck everything over.

Plus, he's humiliated. How the fuck did he actually _believe_ Quinn when she said that the baby was conceived that night in the hot tub? God. He's fucking dumb.

He leans his head back on the wooden wall beside him, closing his eyes and trying not to let any tears fall. His head snaps up when he hears a quiet grunting, and he springs forward to help Rachel as she climbs into the tree house. "What're you doing here?"

She brushes some snow off her skirt as she sits beside him, grasping his hand in hers and placing it in her lap. "Figured you'd be here," she explains lowly, "and…I didn't think you'd want to be alone."

He stares at her for a long moment, and to his horror his lip begins to tremble. Eyes softening, she pulls him close. Her hands are familiar, like she's been holding him forever, and he buries his face in her side, finally releasing a rough sob.

He's not okay. But he will be.

_iii_.

He pulls a crumpled tulip from his back pocket, laughing bitterly as he runs his fingers over its long, green stem. Funny how a few hours ago he was filled with so much hope, and now, he's _here_. His hiding place.

He's always been a little slow. It's not because he's stupid, no, it's because it takes him awhile to really understand things—especially himself. And for some reason, he's always too late when it comes to Rachel. She said she'd _never_ wait for him, once, but she does anyway—until he's ready, at least. It's almost like the universe is against him, against them.

His eyes slide closed, and he knows that's not true. He can feel her. He knows that means they're meant to be together. He just has to be patient, and wait for _her_ to be ready for _him_, this time.

Maybe they're meant to be together forever, they just weren't quite ready for each other yet.

But then he remembers that summer they spent everyday together, how her hands felt in his in the hallway, how proud she was to be his, and he to be hers. So no, they were ready. Maybe they just needed to grow apart in order to be able to grow together.

A lot of the time, he imagines what it'd be like if he'd done what he wanted, back in December, at that Christmas song she prepared for him. What would've happened if he'd stayed? Listened to her sing? Or maybe if he'd pulled her to him in that Christmas tree lot and kissed her like he meant it? He figures they'd wind up broken up regardless.

Rachel's always been a lot more mature than him. Maybe _he_ was the one who needed to grow up.

Regardless, he understands now, and all he wants is Rachel, and his heart shatters when he realizes that, for the present, he can't have her.

_iv_.

She's giggling, brushing her face against his bicep as he pulls her around the backyard. "Finn," she protests as he instructs her to climb the ladder to the tree house, "my curfew is in ten minutes."

He helps her climb anyway, fingers grasping her hips to ensure she doesn't fall. "It's the last real night of summer. They'll understand."

She sighs, and he follows her, collapsing on top of her in the tree house. "Finn! Get off!"

Laughing, he ignores her demand, but balances his weight onto his forearms so he doesn't crush his tiny girlfriend. His feet stick out of the tree house. He's been too big to fit all the way in here since he was ten, really. Rachel fits, though, in the tree house as well as with him, which is oddly appropriate.

He presses his mouth against hers, crickets strumming a symphony outside as the summer evening settles around them. Her hands circle around his neck, mouth sweet beneath his as he kisses her a little harder.

Sighing, he nuzzles his face in her neck, whispering against her collarbone, "I love you, pretty girl."

They've been fairly resigned with their feelings this summer, haven't quite admitted how they really feel since that afternoon in the library when they got back together. She requested they take it slow, build up to _this_, though the reconstruction took only four weeks, and they found themselves back to where they were in November by the time June rolled around.

Regardless, they haven't quite said _those words_, only to keep their sanctity, surely. But he can't help but let them slide easily from his throat. They're true, after all. He's so in love with her, he can't believe he ever thought what he felt before was love (it was). He thinks maybe this is what being mature really means.

Her eyes flutter open, hands resting on his cheeks, and she smiles as she says, "Oh, I love you, too."

_v_.

He's surprised when he finds _her_ up there in the middle of November. There is no logical explanation for how he knows, just that he does. And that's what matters, anyway.

And okay, he's a _little_ pissed off at her as he climbs the ladder, but all that dissolved when he discovers her, curled up in his corner, head balanced on her knees. "Baby," he says softly, crawling across the small space to kneel before her.

"I'm so sorry," she mumbles thickly, and he leans down and kisses her. Ever since they had sex he's been a little _more_ than into her. Like, he doesn't ever want to share that with anyone else in his entire life. Rachel's the one. He's certain.

"What're you sorry for?"

She glares at him. "You know…for screwing everyone over for sectionals."

"It's okay," he murmurs gently. "Like, we could've really used you, but this will give us an opportunity to highlight the voices we don't use. So, maybe it'll be good, in the long run. Plus," he laughs a little, her lips quirk with a smile, "we're _totally_ gonna duet at regionals."

He doesn't realize that _duet_ sounds like _do it_, and blushes. She laughs nonetheless, tossing her head backwards with the sound. "Thank you, Finn. I can still offer my thoughts, though, yes?"

"'Course." She smiles and presses her lips softly to his.

_vi_.

They sneak up to the tree house during his graduation party for a moment alone. He's a little tipsy as he squeezes his body onto the platform and pulls Rachel flush against him, her hands balancing on his shoulders with the force of his grasp.

As always, he kisses her, smiling against her mouth. She pulls away first, but keeps her hand on his face. "So," she begins, "ready to take on the next step in our life together?"

"New York?"

"New York."

_vii_.

"You can't run away every time we have a fight, you know," Rachel yells from the ground, voice floating up to his level, where he lies, curled into a corner of the tree house. "I'm not coming up there."

She comes up anyway, squeezing her body between his and the wall. "Sorry," he mutters darkly, "I didn't exactly want to stay there with you when you said you didn't wanna marry me."

"That's not what I said."

"Yes, it is. You said—"

"You were eavesdropping. Tell me what you heard."

"I heard you tell your dad, '…Not ready for marriage, anyway, so thank god he hasn't proposed yet.' And that's when I left."

"I was talking about _Quinn_ and _Sam_. I was telling a story, in which Quinn said, 'I'm not ready for marriage, anyway, so thank god he hasn't proposed yet.' You misheard."

He releases a heavy sigh and kisses her bare shoulder. "I'm so sorry, baby. You know me. I overreact, ninety percent of the time."

"I know."

"You know what we should do?"

"Hmm?"

"Get married." His fingers fumble in his pocket to produce the small, white gold ring. Her face belays her complete and total shock, and he rejoices internally at how surprised she is.

"Finn, I—" She smiles grasps the ring, and slides it onto her finger. "_Yes_."

_viii_.

"Daddy's going to show you a very special place, okay, Ava?"

"Yes, Daddy." Her small hand grasps two of his fingers as he leads her into the backyard of his old house, the house he grew up in and lived in 'till his mom got married when he was sixteen. The house is, technically, his, but rented out to Quinn and Sam, who have promised to keep the tree house in the backyard.

"Promise to hold on?" She nods and squeezes her neck. He finds his nose buried in dark brown curls that smell like strawberry shampoo (the same kind Rachel uses). "Okay, Princess, this is the tree house that my daddy built me when I was your age."

"Really?" She plops onto her bottom, pink dress fanning out around her. He nods and sits beside her. "Can we build one at our new house in Broken?"

"Brooklyn," he corrects, grinning, "and if Mommy says so."

"_Daddy_," she whines, "she'll say no. Mommy's no fun!"

He hears Rachel's indignant shout as she climbs up the tree. "I am _so_ fun, right, Daddy?"

Finn holds up his hands. "I don't want to get in the middle of your spat!"

Rachel glares at him and crawls over to Ava, tickling her until tears stream down her face and she's crying that yes, yes, Mommy is _very_ fun!

Finn watches them, a smile quirking his lips as Rachel tugs Ava onto her lap. Their little girl cuddles into Rachel's neck and yawns, and it's moments like these that he is struck with just how similar his two girls look. Ava is Rachel's girl through and through, with her hair, eyes and personality. Her smile, though, is completely Finn's.

He wraps his arm around Rachel and kisses her temple, and then Ava's cheek, and he's so completely enamored with these girls he can't remember ever feeling differently.


	6. a thousand lights abounded on our home

_i_.

"You hog the covers," Finn murmurs quietly, voice thick with sleep. Rachel snuggles closer, brushing her nose against his stubble-covered cheek. Sunlight streams into the window, slanting gray light through the blinds and onto her groggy face. Rising on one elbow, he brushes her long, dark hair from her face, trailing his fingers down her flushed cheek.

"You smell," she mumbles as he presses a kiss to her lips. He rolls his eyes and kisses her softly once more. "Let me go back to sleep, please."

"No." She rolls onto her side and checks the clock, groaning loudly at the time, just after eight in the morning. "C'mon, baby girl, let's go make breakfast."

Grumbling, she gets out of bed, his big plaid shirt sliding off one shoulder. "Go wake up Ava."

"Uh, no way."

"_Yes_, way. You decided to have Kurt babysit for us last night and you know that he keeps her up way past bedtime."

"Well, who else would you prefer?" He inquires, wrapping his arms around her waist and pressing a kiss to her forehead. "Santana?"

"Um." She bites her bottom lip, white teeth tugging rose pink, hiding a smile. "Let's brush our teeth."

_ii_.

Of course, he loses the rock paper scissors match, so he finds himself pushing open the white door, imprinted with butterflies and flowers and the name _Ava_ with a princess crown atop. "Princess," he says softly, "time to wake up!"

The covers rustle and she turns on her side, tired, amber eyes fluttering open. "Daddy," she whines, patting his arm, "maybe later."

Somehow, she's much more like a teenager at the age of four than Rachel _ever_ was, though, as he learned after living with her, Rachel does _not_ appreciate being woken up before she is ready. So, he jerks the covers back and takes her hostage, hauling her over the shoulder.

Delighted laughs peal from her throat, feet kicking and nearly whacking him in the face as she screeches, "_Daddy_!"

He deposits her on the wooden kitchen chair and heads into the kitchen to help Rachel. She pours him a cup of coffee and kisses his chin. "You need to shave."

He rolls his eyes and grasps the mug, carrying it to the table and sitting in the chair beside Ava's. She begins to explain, in great detail, the plot of _The Little Mermaid 2_ to him. Rachel brings the food out, setting two plates before them and sitting across from Finn.

Ava begins to tell them both the story of the little mermaid, and Rachel, always the enthusiast, carries the conversation on through the rest of breakfast.

_iii_.

Saturday nights are hard for Ava, especially after spending an entire day with _both_ Mommy and Daddy. At around three fifteen, she hops onto their bed and watches Rachel get ready to leave, slipping a black dress over her body. "Mommy, you don't really _have_ to go," Ava pleads, as always.

Rachel turns to her, calling for Finn to zip up her dress. "Sweet pea, I –"

"There're my girls," Finn says, smiling as he enters the room and zips Rachel's dress. "Ava, sugar, what's wrong?"

She pushes out her bottom lip, so much like Rachel, and crosses her arms. "Nothing."

Rachel sits on the bed beside them, pressing a soft kiss onto Ava's cheek. "Ava, you know that I have to work on Saturday nights. And remember, tomorrow is Sunday, and what does Sunday mean?"

"Mommy and Ava day," she mutters, ducking her head a little so that her short hair falls around her chin.

"Did…did someone say something to you?" Finn asks, turning her cheek so that she faces him. She doesn't answer, sullenly refuses to look him in the eye. "Ava."

"A stupid boy, 'cause boys are stupid, said – he just said that I didn't have a mommy 'cause my mommy worked all the time."

Rachel's sharp intake of breath tells Finn that this revelation hurts her, so it's up to him to fix it. "Hey, sometimes mommies have to work, but that doesn't mean you don't _have_ one. My mommy worked every night until I was ten but I knew she did it 'cause she loved me."

She sends him a grateful smile when Ava relaxes a little and crawls onto Rachel's lap. "Maybe I can call the –"

"No," Finn says, "You deserve to shine."

"But –"

"No buts. Ava, honey, go to your room and pick out some dolls you wanna play with tonight with me, 'kay?"

She nods, squeezes Rachel around the neck and flounces out of the room. "Finn–"

"Stop," he says. "Baby, stop this whole – this whole guilt about your job thing. We agreed. We agreed, when Ava was born, that nothing would change, we would just need to adjust some things, and that's what we've done. So, just, go to work tonight and be that star I _know_ you are."

She smiles and leans in, mouth against his gently, sweetly, and he smiles against her lips. "Love you."

"Love you more."

_iv_.

"I want Mommy to sing to me."

"Mommy's not home right now."

"I want–"

"_No_. Ava. Mommy isn't home to sing to you right now. How about I read _Where the Wild Things Are_?"

Her face absolutely lights up, and she squeals excitedly. She leans back in bed, scooting over to the very edge. "Daddy, sit with me."

He nods and cuddles with her beneath the blankets, beginning to read, "_The night Max wore his wolf suit_," grasping her finger and tracing along the words as he reads.

Groggy, after he finishes the book and shuts out the light, she says, "Daddy, I love you so."

_v_.

It's an odd night that Finn works late and Rachel is home, but this Thursday night is an exception. Uncomfortable with calling a teenage sitter to watch their baby, and other sitters (Kurt, Santana, sometimes Sam if he isn't busy with his own kids) all happened to be busy, and Rachel was certainly quick to agree. Her run on Broadway has garnered her very first Tony nomination.

And Ava seemed more than happy, so he's a little surprised when he walks into the apartment to hear Ava's loud, loud protests (she takes after her mother in that respect).

"What's going on?" Finn asks, leaning against the doorjamb. "Somethin' wrong here?"

Rachel glances up, and he can tell from the set to her eyebrows and glassy eyes that something has not been right. "I-I can't seem to, um—"

"Mommy doesn't read like you do!"

"If you just—"

"I want Daddy."

"Ava, sweet pea, just—"

"_I want Daddy_!" Completely frustrated, Rachel stands up from the bed, kisses Ava on the forehead, and hands Finn the book.

"Baby—"

She ignores him and storms down the hall.

_v_.

Rachel is in the shower when he finally manages to get Ava to fall asleep. He knows she's upset when he doesn't hear her voice, loud and clear over the sound of the water. He pulls off his clothes and joins her beneath the spray, wrapping his arms around her waist and kissing her.

"Baby, are you okay?"

"No," she shakes her head, "but I will be."

_vi_.

She doesn't go to work the next day, because, _that's what understudies are for, Finn_, and _Ava, want to come to the dress store with Mommy_? Naturally, she agrees, and hours later, they return home, gown garment in tow. Ava requests to be lifted into his arms as he presses his mouth to Rachel's.

He lifts Ava into his arms, and she snuggles into his neck, and Rachel squeezes his hand and walks into the family room. "Nap time, yes?"

"Mhmm," Ava mumbles into his neck, "_now_!" Laughing, he carries her into her bedroom and tucks her under the covers.

He curves his body around Rachel's on the couch, slipping between her body and the cushions, looping his arms around her waist. "Finn, the Tony Awards are this weekend, as I'm sure you know."

"Yup. Got my tux yesterday."

"Mmm." She turns, big, dark eyes searching his. "Finn, I'm going to leave the show. It's incredibly likely that I'll win, and I think it's best for – for our family if I stay home. We're in a comfortable place financially, as a matter of fact, you make enough to support us for the rest of our lives, though if you want, I can pickup a small part time job–"

"But, baby," he murmurs, "Broadway's your dream."

"Broadway is my career. My dream is…it's _you_, and Ava, and Finn, I'm – I'm – I think I want – I want another."

"Another what?"

"_Baby_, Finn. Another baby. Ava's four, now, and I think—"

He rolls so that she's on her back, and hugs her tightly, and then kisses her, soft and sweet, then a little harder, and her tongue slips into his mouth and he presses her into his body, his hands pushing her shirt up her stomach and off her shoulders, and it's a little clumsy and a little awkward but completely perfect just like every other time they've done this.

Her breath is a little heavy as they snuggle on the couch after, legs tangled together on top of the couch, her fingers draw circles on his chest as his fingers fiddle with her hair.

"We need to get dressed," she mumbles, "Ava'll be up soon."

"Kay." And he kisses her again.

_vii_.

It's drizzling outside. He loves this weather, loves the way the clouds cloak the sun and the way the rain falls like tears, soft on the ground, and he doesn't need a jacket to go outside. Drizzling always, always, always reminds him of the debacle of sophomore year and Quinn and Beth and sometimes he thinks about what it would've been like if maybe he'd stayed with Quinn through the baby thing.

Like, he definitely didn't love her in the way she deserved or the way she is loved now, with Sam and her family, her perfect blonde babies, and he knows he's where he's meant to be – with Rachel and Ava and maybe another baby, if the pregnancy test she's taking pans out the way they want.

Shutting the door behind her, she bites her bottom lip and shakes her head, murmuring, "Negative, again." And he hugs her and curls beside her on the bed, forehead against hers, murmuring, _it's okay, it's okay, it's okay_, just as a crash of thunder booms overhead.

Rachel hates thunderstorms, and so does Ava, who knocks on the door and sprints into their bedroom, snuggling between her parents on the bed, and, _Mommy, why're you crying_, and Rachel shakes her head, kissing her soft, shiny, dark hair.

His two girls, he thinks as they fall asleep beneath the downy comforter. One echoing the other, the only indication that Finn is a genetic contributor to their child is her amber colored eyes. He smiles softly, unable to sleep because of the pouring rain and booming thunder, thoughts running endlessly.

Eventually, he succumbs to sleep, head full of thoughts about his girls.

_viii_.

She's beaming when he comes home from work a few weeks later, sitting on the family room floor playing with Ava, and she hops up when she sees him and hugs him really tightly, whispers, _I'm pregnant_, in her ear, and he shouts excitedly, twirling her in a circle.

Ava's a little confused, but smiles and hugs his legs in greeting, and he picks her up, somehow still holding Rachel, and hugs them both.

This isn't exactly the life he thought of when he was a senior in high school – working as a sports broadcaster with a stay at home wife. He always imagined Rachel working longer than him and he'd be the stay at home parent, but he can't imagine anything making him as happy as he is now.

Later that night, he wakes up, shivering, and looks over at Rachel, tucked in a ball beneath the blanket, and he smiles sleepily and curls beside her, tugging the blanket from her hands. "Blanket hog," he teases, sliding his hands over her abdomen, anticipation for this new life to bloom, and he murmurs softly – to the both of them – _I love you so_.


	7. cat's cradle etiquette

**this, obviously, is au**

* * *

><p>"I just—I don't understand why you like him. He's—"<p>

"Married," she finishes, "and I know you think that, but you have no proof."

"No _proof_? What more proof do I need than that he came by the station to thank some of the guys for saving his _wife_—yes, his wife—from that fire a few weeks ago?"

She shakes her head and bites her lip. "Look, Finn," she begins, fingers settling atop his clenched fist, "I get this, this whole territorial feeling, because you're my best friend. And you think things are going to change now that I'm in love. But I promise that you will not lose me!"

He sighs, and she smiles, and squeezes his forearm. "You can do way better than Jesse St. James."

That angers her, dark eyes flashing, "Oh, yeah? Like who? Look, Finn, I accepted that you were dating Quinn, that you want to _marry her_ even if she is all wrong for you."

"Exactly! I'm saving you the heartbreak that Quinn caused me when she broke off the engagement! How humiliated do you think I feel, knowing all my friends and family and loved ones _all_ knew she was wrong for me and never decided to tell me?"

"She broke off the engagement?" At his nod, tenderness infiltrates her eyes and she rests her hand on his bicep. "I'm so sorry, Finn."

"Yeah, well," he says bitterly, "better now than two kids and a mortgage down the line, huh?"

"Regardless, Finn, I know myself. And I know Jesse. He would _never_ do this to me. You must've heard him wrong." Her voice is sugary sweet, and she wraps her arms around him once, squeezes 'round his waist, and flounces off towards her flight's gate.

It's always been Finn and Rachel. Then, it was Finn and Rachel and sometimes-Quinn. And now that it's just Finn and Rachel again, he isn't too keen on letting that go. She's his best friend, after all. All he wants is to spend time with her.

When they were thirteen, they kissed in her room, clandestinely, hands on awkward knees and fingertips brushing her protruding collarbone. He's never felt that way since, and he wonders if it's simply because they've been friends for so long, or something else.

From the way his stomach is swimming, he supposes the latter. He longs for the feeling of her fingers between his, mouth against his, wonders how he'd feel seeing her in his bed every morning. He's spent the past three years imagining Quinn walking towards him, blonde hair all done up, pale arm twined with her father's. He thought that made him happier than anything ever.

Instead, he pictures Rachel, her warm smile, dark hair hanging halfway down her back, honey arms with her dads'. He imagines marrying her, dancing at the reception to one of _their songs_, scrap booking pictures months after in commemoration. He doesn't want anything but the sound of her voice echoing off the shower walls, singing him into forever.

In some ways, he's only ever thought of Rachel this way, as _his girl_. But he's never imagined her as _his_ girl. She's always belonged to someone else, heart given to some other boy, string still knotted around his heart as she passed it around and broke it and broke it and shattered it and put herself together.

He's always loved her.

It doesn't surprise him when she joins him on his fire escape, her shoulder knocking into his in greeting. The apples of her cheeks are wet with old tears, rosy red as her breath puffs in front of her in the cold.

"Sad?" Her mitten clad hand inches towards his, soft fabric against his cold bare hand, and she nods slightly.

He knows how she feels, hell, he still feels like his heart has been pulled from his chest and squeezed till it bruised, but he takes the knowledge that he loves her (and she him) to help him heal.

"We'll be okay," he murmurs, hooking his elbow behind hers.

It happens randomly. They're watching a movie at his place, beside one another on the couch, when her leg presses against his, and before he knows it, his mouth is on hers. His fingers slip beneath her sweater, just resting on the skin of her stomach as his tongue slips into her mouth.

He picks her up off the couch, her legs winding around his waist as he carries them into the bedroom, kisses all the feelings he's had bottled up inside since he was old enough to understand them into her skin, fingers tracing over her collarbone, lips following suit. Her back arches into him as he holds her close, forehead sweating as it comes to rest against hers. She falls and he falls and he holds her close, bare skin warm as they come down. He intertwines their fingers as she hooks her arm over his hip, cart wheeling into a restful sleep.

Her fingers brush over a long scar on the underside of his forearm, tickling him, and rousing him from a light sleep. The tether binding their hearts hums and sings and stretches and vibrates when she leans over and presses _good morning_ into his neck. She's warm and sunshine and bright eyes and morning light, tucked into his side, white sheets tangled in their limbs.

He tells her quietly, lips barely moving, that he loves her, he's _always_ loved her, and she presses _yes_ into his fingers.

Weeks down the road, he asks her to marry him in the same fashion, lips humming against hers, and her answer is a kiss on the corner of his lips, _yes_ whispered into his mouth.


	8. darling

**darling**

He's just woken up when thunder claps, and lightning brightens their bedroom. Rachel snuggles closer into his chest, toes curling as her feet brush his thighs. She's so—so small, so warm, curled in a ball, wearing one of his old sweatshirts zipped to the very top. He presses his hand to her cheek and kisses her softly on the nose. She won't wake, he's sure of that – she had a show last night and a cast party after that tired her out.

He lets her sleep and rolls out of bed, not bothering to shave or shower, and begins to make them breakfast. She's still a vegan, which is like, totally hard to make stuff for her, but he's found some recipes. Plus, Rachel sucks at cooking, so he takes over in that area of their marriage.

It's different than he thought. Harder than he predicted, but easier than he was warned. The easy part is how much he loves her, and that soothes any other bumps in the road. The hard part is not walking out on arguments or letting his temper take over. But they've worked on that. She's worked on being less controlling, too, and they're—they're good.

Really good.

And he likes doing special things for her, like making her breakfast so she can catch an extra hour of sleep, or brushing the snow off her car in the mornings, or packing her a lunch when she has a long day in front of her.

The door to their bedroom creaks, and she appears, wearing long pants, his sweatshirt, and an adorably confused expression. "'S cold," she mumbles, pressing her face into his chest.

She's sweetest in the morning, voice all throaty and groggy, mussed hair and half-lidded eyes. H loves her all the time, but particularly in the morning. That changes, too, some days, he loves her most right before bed, when her breath evens out and syncs with his, and she kisses him one last time, or when she's on stage, pouring her heart and soul into her voice and it's safe to say he loves her all the time.

He can't help but laugh as she tucks herself into him, shivering ever so slightly. It's nearly March, nearly spring, but still cold. He presses his mouth against hers, tasting the lingering toothpaste, and pulls away. "I'll turn the heat on."

"What're you making?" She hops onto the counter and stares at him with squinting, sleepy eyes, a smile tugging at the corner of her lips. _God_, she really is his sunshine.

"Those pancakes you like," he responds. She squeezes her eyes shut. "Tired?"

"Mhmm. Missed you last night."

He pours the batter on the frying pan. "Me, too."

"Want help?" He shakes his head, begins humming a tune he wants to hear her sing and smiles slightly when she takes his cue. She's woken up more, eyes big and bright, voice clear and beautiful, as she sings along to the tune he hums.

He's just—he's happy. With her. He'll never get tired of the monotony of a monogamous relationship because Rachel manages to slip her bit of sunshine into everyday. "Why're you smiling?" She inquires, breaking his thoughts, "You just burnt breakfast!"

It's a balmy day in June when he calls her _darling_ for the first time. He's fairly affectionate as far as nicknames go, slips out _baby_ and _babe_ all the time, but there is something so grown up about _darling_. He's never called her that before.

He uses it a lot as the summer melts into the brisk fall, and she never mentions it, even when he takes her to an apple orchard and lifts her, says, "darling, be careful," and smacks a kiss against her cheek when he lowers her. She must blush head to toe every time he says it, too, cheeks blooming rose pink but he doesn't really notice.

It's their fifth wedding anniversary when she tells him she's pregnant, and he sweeps her into his arms and tells her he loves her, it isn't until later, when she's diving headlong into unconsciousness that he calls her his darling, his honey, and he must think she's asleep already.

She nearly is, but smiles against his chest, and lets sleep drag her eyelids down as Finn pulls the blanket to her chin.

Rachel is six months pregnant, resting in the cool air conditioning in their apartment when Finn bursts in the door and presses a hot kiss against her lips. "Darling," he begins, "I have the perfect name for our baby."

"Hmm?"

"Provided it is a female," he grins, amber eyes lighting up, "_Ava_."

She smiles. She thought it'd be a silly name, like drizzle or snow, grins, and squeezes his hand. "I love that."

"Good." He deliberates a moment. "I love _you_."


	9. his smile says he's in love

**his smile says he's in love**

He's not so good at tying ties, especially with the way his eyes can't seem to stray from the gray starting to blend into his sandy hair, coloring his temples a much older man. "Em?" He calls, giving up on tying the goddamn tie.

She sticks her head out from the bathroom, rubber gloves pulled up to her elbows, smiling. "Yes?"

He doesn't answer, just gestures to his chest, and she holds up one rubber yellow finger. He shrugs, purses his lips, tuning his ears for the first strains of life in the room next door. Emma appears, gloveless, white blouse tucked into a high waisted skirt, cardigan folded over one arm, and he smiles as she loops his tie seamlessly.

"I'm assuming you know what day today is," she says conversationally, patting his shoulders and dusting off seemingly invisible particles once she finishes knotting the tie.

He sighs. "I do."

"Five years since you won your _first_ national victory. How does it feel to keep that crown, champ?"

He smiles and slips his arm around her shoulders as they walk down the hall to their daughter, Katie's room. But as he passes the frames hung on the wall, that first set of kids who changed his life, Emma's picture beside his and their baby who, in retrospect, isn't much of a baby at four. She's sleepy when they peek in at her, eyes just fluttering open when Emma sits on the edge of the bed and runs her hands over her cheeks.

Will just leans against the doorway, smiling, watching, kissing both his girls on the cheeks when they're ready to go. He's a little out of it today, lost in his mind. Any other day, he'd be singing along with Katie and Emma to the radio, but today, his thoughts are clouding his mind enough that he can really only focus on driving to school.

Five years since he won that first national championship, and four years since he's seen them all together. There have been visits, Mike surprising Tina before winter break and sitting in on a practice, Quinn and Santana popping in to congratulate a third consecutive national title, Kurt at Blaine's graduation, all of them, together, that first November they were gone for their wedding.

He wishes that Finn would stop by, would have stopped by, would have called, would have done more than send congratulatory text messages and emails, wishes that Rachel would, too. Maybe that makes him slightly pathetic, wishing for two blossoming twenty-somethings to visit their old choir teacher, check in with him – but he can't help but miss those two. Hearing stories from others isn't really as fulfilling as he'd expected.

And he's sad, on this five year anniversary, in part because it's already been five years and he's getting old, and also because in a big way, Finn and Rachel were responsible for that win, co-captains, leading the group number, Rachel's solo, Finn's unwavering faith.

Emma stops in for lunch, sits on the arm of his chair and shares a sandwich without crust and mixed grapes, and she squeezes the base of his neck before she goes back to her office, and she makes him smile, makes him feel better when he's nostalgic and melancholy, and he should be happy – he's a five time national show choir champion, after all, but those kids, Finn and Rachel and Kurt and Santana and Mercedes and Artie and the rest of them – they saved him.

He's reviewing sheet music and old choreography when there's a knock at the choir room door. It's second to last period, he's free right now, and since it's nationals season, he's trying to prepare for the competition. He checks his watch. He has no appointments with kids in the club, Emma's in a meeting, and he's already talked to Sue and Figgins today about the upcoming competition.

So he is truly confused as he calls out, "Come on in!"

He hears footsteps, heavy and light – the clacking of heels – and when he glances up he feels a wide smile nearly cracking his face. "Miss us?"

Laughing, he stands to embrace them, Finn, first, who unwinds his arm from Rachel's waist to hug him fully, and he seems taller, somehow, broader, too, and when he releases Finn, Rachel stretches on her tiptoes to hug him, because even in those heels, she's still so small, and he thinks he hears her sniffling, and they look good, but – definitely older. Her hair is short, now, and his is, too, much less styled.

"Of course," he answers the standing question, "How are you two?"

Rachel curves her body into Finn's, and he looks down at her in that special way, and they communicate instantaneously. She squeezes Finn's wrist, and holds up her left hand. "We eloped!"

"You eloped?"

"We eloped!" Finn confirms, smiling like that first trophy's been placed in his hands, like he's just serenaded Rachel for the first time and knows he killed every bit of that song, and a fatherly pride swells in his chest. Finn's always been a formative son to him, a friend, too. "We just got back yesterday."

Rachel stretches on her toes to kiss Finn's cheek. "From Italy," she adds, "and even though they were there, Kurt and Santana want to throw us a sort of reception – tomorrow – here in Lima, and we're hoping you'll come."

"Yeah. I mean, it's kinda 'cause of you that we're here, now. Together, married – Rachel's going to be on Broadway this fall," he's positively beaming with pride, and Rachel buries her face in Finn's chest, "and, well. We kinda have you to thank, right, baby girl?"

She's laughing, lips curled up as she stares at Finn with that same old starry-eyed gaze, and she nods, thanking him profusely. He sort of forgot about this, the depth between these two, the way that Finn has always seemed to just understand Rachel, from Don't Stop Believing and so on, to right now, when she's leaning her body against his, his name tied to hers.

Rachel curls her fingers in the buttonholes on Finn's sweater. "When I win my Tony, and Finn his Oscar – and Emmy and Tony – you'll be the first person we thank."

He watches Finn's eyes, always been so fascinated in the way he's looked at Rachel, how his eyes were their own caress, and he feels like it was just yesterday that he was telling Rachel that there would be a boy who loved her because and in spite of her faults, and wasn't it, really? Wasn't it just yesterday that Finn lumbered into his office and asked if he should have sex with Rachel? Or that they stood in front of the glee club and proudly declared their engagement?

He'd always thought they were just two high school kids fooling around, back when they were juniors and Rachel was sending girls to crack houses and Finn was scheming to stay on the football team, but things had changed when Burt and Carole had gotten married, and even further when they'd broken up, and he'd had to watch them fall apart and grow apart, and he couldn't even be all too disappointed when they'd kissed onstage n Nationals. Of course, they could've had better timing, but – he understood (understands) their passion.

He's had the pleasure of watching these two kids who he would never have put together before glee club come together in such a special way, and he honestly thinks he and Emma are soul mates, but there's something else between Finn and Rachel.

Will tells them he has a glee club practice to get to, and Rachel asks if they can watch and curls on Finn's lap in the auditorium to do so, and he's always admired the way they stay constantly connected, arms and hands and legs, all of it, and he imagines Finn's heart carrying every piece of Rachel's the way his does Emma's.

He asks them to sing something for them, and Finn rubs the back of his neck nervously, but Rachel manages to drag him up and he's missed the way these two connect through music and harmony, finding pieces of themselves (and each other) in every lyrics and cord and every time they sing together, it's like they fall in love all over again, and after, the entire club claps for them, and he just puts his hand on his heart, because if there are two people he's most proud of in this world, it's Finn and Rachel Hudson (Berry).


	10. starlight

**starlight**

She presses into the curve of his body, hip against hip, as he grasps her hand and uses it to point to the stars. She smiles against his shoulder blade. He's still her Finn. The grass beneath her back is dewy as it brushes her calves and bare shoulders, but she doesn't mind.

She's missed this. Missed him. Missed the way he rubs his hand down her sides and rubs his thumb into her hip the way she likes, misses his hand against hers as he teaches her about the stars, a lesson she's heard a million times over. She'll never get tired of it, never get tired of the way the freckles on his face look like constellations in the sky. She has a star in her sky and one on a ring on her finger and one beside her, though he may not know it.

His face is cast in shadows, half-lit from the dim starlight, and he finally speaks, lips brushing against the crown of her head, "I've missed you."

It's the first time she's heard his voice since Christmas, pure and strong, not tinny from the phone or computer, and they haven't done much but kiss and hold each other since she hopped in his car and drove to the lake.

Sucking in a breath, she murmurs, "Me, too."

They're silent, legs twining as she curls closer, a cool, sweet-smelling breeze rustles the still water and his arm tightens around her. She's tired, eyelids heavy, but she doesn't want to sleep, especially as Finn nudges his knee between her thighs, his fingers tracing up her body until they slip beneath her shirt.

She doesn't sleep at all, really, not as he kisses a symphony on her body, presses starlight all over her skin and kisses her and kisses her and when she comes, she falls, cart wheeling and twirling from the sky, a fallen star right into his arms. He holds her tight, as always, and kisses that spot behind her ear he knows she likes and whispers that he loves her in her ear and kisses the spot gently.

She's molten lava, melted in his arms, and he picks her up, swinging her against his chest as he ambles towards his truck. It's time for her to go home, now, time for him to drop her off and tuck back into bed as if this clandestine lakeside meeting never happened, as if she isn't still Finn's, still, always Finn's. But she's still got his ring, still has his promise of forever.

He kisses her again when the truck rolls to a stop in front of her house, fireflies flickering like shooting stars, and she loves him most when he grabs her waist and tugs her close, his lips falling against her jaw when he asks her if she's still his.

Patting his face and squeezing his cheek, she answers, "I'm still yours."

"Good," he responds, a quiet mumble into the side of her neck, "'cause I'm coming to New York next semester."

It's all she's ever wanted, dreamed of, and he's so different, older, broader, harder but he's still her Finn her beautiful beautiful Finn. His starlit face illuminates with every color of the rainbow every shade and hue on the color wheel illuminated on the constellation lined skin and she can't help but draw his lips back to hers, tongue invading his mouth and for the first time ever he's started to taste like coffee but still Finn and maybe this is what growing up is, nights spent not beneath the starlit sky but just nights spent together and she thinks she'll probably be able to tackle any hurdle life throws her as long as she's got Finn by her side.


	11. unrequited

**on watching someone you love love someone else**

Santana says it first, casually, over dinner with the girls. She's got a spoonful of pasta halfway to her mouth. The fingers wrapped around the spoon quiver slightly, but she doesn't drop it. "Finn Hudson's got a new girlfriend."

She responds coolly, like the news of her existence doesn't sting her insides like pinpricks, orders a second glass of wine and ignores the surreptitious glance Tina and Brittany share as she tosses back the glassful of cheap wine. The image of him kissing another woman burns in her brain, sends the expensive meal crawling up her esophagus but she can't escape it, the idea of that mouth pressed so closely to another's.

When she wakes up the next morning, the idea of her hits like a car crash, sudden and gory, and she feels all her insides knot into one. Midday, the phone rings, glaring an unfamiliar number and when she answers it's his voice's low timbre that responds.

"I haven't seen you in awhile," he says, and she can hear his smile, can picture the halfway curve upwards of that mouth. All the wires inside of her knot simply upon hearing his voice. "Come over for dinner?"

Her heart squeezes, and just like that, she's his friend again – his _best_ friend. When he opens the door, he smiles kindly, but his face doesn't light up quite like she'd always imagined. He hugs her and he smells good, a new kind of cologne, and she wants to believe that he'd put it on just for her – but she knows that's not true. She wants to curve against him and tell him just how he makes her insides tick like a clock edging closer to midnight, how often her dreams catch him and how desperately she wishes for it all to be real.

"You look good," he tells her. Not pretty, not beautiful, no open-mouthed gawk, just – _good_. And she responds in the kind, though he looks handsome, gorgeous, so different but better, somehow. When he was hers he'd been so, so attractive. Now that he's someone else's he's become a whole new level of _hot_.

He pours her a glass of white wine and his face is close to hers, close enough that she could run her thumb between each and every one of his freckles, tracing every constellation onto his face. He smiles and they eat and he washes the dishes and she heads into the bathroom.

In nearly every room there's a photo of her – his girlfriend – the pretty girl whose features are purely her own. Her fingers press against her abdomen upon realizing she bears no resemblance to this girl captured in photos. Littered in one corner of his bathroom counter are bobby pins, dark brown and metallic and she imagines stealing them and shoving them in her pockets, tossing them into the toilet and flushing, but she stops herself.

She passes through his bedroom, eyes the photos of that girl on each nightstand, his body curled around hers, his gaze not forwards but on her. She doesn't know that he ever looked at her like that. A new, more effeminate – while remaining masculine – bedspread covers the bed she'd once slept in with him, and she remembers desperately trying to get him to buy a nicer, prettier, cozier comforter.

He's on the phone when she leaves his room, leaned against the counter in the kitchen and he's wearing a smile she's never seen before, pressing his fingers against something attached to the fridge. Without even looking, she knows it's a photograph of the girl who now owns his heart.

When he hugs her goodbye, she wants to stay here, out in this hallway with his arms around her. For a moment, she pretends like he still loves her, like hugging her is something he does because he wants to be close to her, not a glorified handshake. She's just about to pull away when he kisses her resolutely on the forehead.

"Really good to see you," he says, and his voice is warm as always and she watches as his entire demeanor simultaneously brightens and relaxes as he focuses on a point just over her shoulder.

"Baby, you're early," he exclaims and already he's departed from her and gone over to her, this girl who's wound herself all over the man she loves. And, really, looking at her, he's wound himself into her, too.

"Finn, I'm going to go," she tells him, hiking her purse over one shoulder. He's been so caught up he's barely noticed her discomfort, and nods and smiles.

"We'll do this again, soon, okay?" She nods and doesn't even register that he didn't introduce her to his girlfriend.

When she arrives home, she can't help but imagine _her_ pressing her fingers into Finn's, curling beneath his arm when she falls asleep tonight, kissing him and loving him like she was supposed to because he's her soul mate. But, really, she supposes maybe he's her soul mate, but – but she isn't his.

And she isn't really surprised when she picks up her mail to find a letter whose return address is Finn's apartment, isn't surprised to open the ivory envelope and find an invitation spill out. Black ink proudly portraying Finn Christopher Hudson's wedding to Rachel Barbra Berry.

Quinn sighs and fills out her guest card, debating for a moment before checking the plus one box.


End file.
